Authors: Wendy Etherington
Nicole, seeming oblivious to the tension in the air, focused on the man at her side. She never even glanced in Bryan’s direction.
Darcy had the urge to hug him. Or slug his ex-wife.
“We weren’t such losers last year,” Mitch said, his tone carefully light. “Were we, Chance?”
Chance’s expression turned petulant. “Got lucky is all.”
It was like a middle school playground rumble, people circling, taking sides, throwing out cheap shots. And yet the emotions, the conflicts of the past and present, were very adult.
Joe Baker smirked, as if agreeing with his son. “You got better taste in women, too.”
In that moment, Darcy really understood the deep animosity between the families. Before now the whole thing had seemed somewhat irrational, probably overblown by media and opposing fans. She’d assumed the Garrisons didn’t like losing—to the Bakers or anybody else.
Now, she got it. Now she realized just how personal and thorough the bad blood ran.
In a silly way, she also finally understood the passion and devotion NASCAR fans had for their drivers. Your driver was the one you pulled for no matter how long the odds. He was the one whose T-shirts and caps you plunked down your hard-earned money to buy. He was the one you defended no matter who had dared insult him.
For someone—actually three someones—to be so crass and insensitive to
her
driver was absolutely inexcusable.
“Really, Mr. Baker?” she asked, making sure her voice dripped with fake syrup. “Seems to me you guys got the one the Garrisons threw back.”
Then she turned on her heel and marched to the nearby SUV.
After climbing into the backseat, she put on her seat belt and crossed her arms over her chest in defense of her pounding heart. She knew her face had turned red.
What had she said? What had she
done?
She’d been employed by these people for less than a week. She hadn’t even officially begun her job. Now she’d probably get fired and have to go back home to her smothering in-laws, overly concerned friends and empty apartment.
She slumped down in her seat as Cade and Isabel got into the front seat, then Bryan sat in the back beside her. She assumed Parker, Rachel, Mitch and Leanne were heading to the hotel in the other SUV. At least she didn’t have to have Bryan fire her in front of Parker. With his elegant manners and composed demeanor, Parker was no doubt regretting recommending her. Maybe she’d never have to face Parker again. Maybe she could slink off with her suitcase to a local motel, then fly home tomorrow.
“I can’t believe you said that to Joe Baker,” Cade said as he started the engine.
Darcy wished she could melt into the floorboard. She didn’t dare look at Bryan. “I’m so sor—”
“Stop,” Cade jumped in. “Don’t ruin the moment.” He glanced in the rearview mirror and met her gaze with an amused look in his bright blue eyes. “Nice work.”
“Hear, hear,” Isabel added. “If only I’d had a camera to capture the shock on that twit Nicole’s overly Botoxed face.”
Darcy swallowed. “You guys aren’t mad?”
“Mad?” Isabel twisted around in her seat. “Hell no. I think this moment calls for champagne.”
“Text Parker and see if he can get a bottle chilling to share before dinner,” Cade said.
“Great idea. Oh, and some of those chocolate-covered strawberries.”
As Isabel’s fingers flew over her phone keyboard, Darcy’s heart rate slowed from complete panic to mere anxiety. “I…um, well, I have a friend who owns a catering company. She can get Belgian chocolate at cost.”
Isabel turned in her seat again. “You can
make
chocolate-covered strawberries?”
“Sure.”
“Very cool. Can you teach me?”
“Aye.” She pressed her lips together. Why did the Irish always pop out when she was nervous? “Yes. It’s easy.”
“How about cooking lessons?”
“Anytime.” She glanced at Bryan, who faced front, his profile giving away nothing of his mood. His hands were lying calmly along the armrests. “As long as I can manage my training schedule, too.”
“You’re on.” Isabel faced front again. “That Parker, he’s a freakin’ genius at personnel.”
So maybe she wasn’t going to be fired. But she’d insulted an extremely powerful man in racing circles. There was no way she wouldn’t face consequences for that impulse. “I’m still sorry for what I said to Mr. Baker. I—”
“Please don’t show him any respect when he showed none for you,” Isabel said, her voice somehow even-toned but hinting annoyance at the same time. “Or any of us.”
“But I shouldn’t have jumped in. It was impulsive and rude, but he was such a neddy that I—”
Cade’s gaze again flicked to the rearview mirror. “Neddy?”
“A fool.” Her face heated again. “It’s an Irish thing. Basically somebody annoying.”
“That’s the Bakers,” Cade and Isabel said together.
“You did good,” Isabel added. “Our eye’s on the championship prize, but if we get a few good digs in to people who’ve made it hard for us along the way, all the better.”
Not fired but praised?
Too strange.
She was living inside the NASCAR world, so maybe she should get used to surprises. They were bound to happen at 180 miles an hour.
“You’re one of us now,” Cade said.
Isabel laid her hand over her husband’s. As their fingers entwined on the console, Darcy’s heart contracted. She
used
to be part of a team. A pair who had
love and stability and hope for the future and happy contentment for the present.
Yet she knew, just as Bryan Garrison knew, that sometimes the ground shifted beneath your feet. Sometimes the future didn’t even closely resemble your dreams. Maybe dealing with that realization was part of the reason they were suited to each other.
“Defending your team is part of your job,” Isabel said. “It won’t be the last time. I’m glad to have you—”
Cade shook their joined hands. “
We’re
glad.”
Isabel slid her fingers along the back of Cade’s hand, then linked their fingers again.
“We’re
glad to have you with us.”
Though she was glad she wasn’t about to be fired, she felt an element of despair when she looked at Cade and Isabel. It lingered like the resentment between the Bakers and the Garrisons. They had what had once belonged to her, and she was ashamed to find herself jealous.
She had no doubt they appreciated the rarity of their relationship. And instead of wishing her circumstances were different, she had to be happy for them. Otherwise, she’d wind up cold and bitter.
Thinking of the man next to her, she turned to see him staring out the window. The scene with his ex-wife left little doubt that his issues weren’t entirely wrapped up in the end of his driving career and the pains of his injury. He had unsolved emotional pain.
Like her.
She said nothing during the drive to the hotel. Neither did Bryan. Cade and Isabel talked quietly about sponsor meetings and functions that were going on during the weekend.
As Cade pulled into the front drive at the Huntington, she could see Parker standing beside the other SUV, talking to a group of valets and bellmen along with a man in a dark suit, who was probably the manager. Luggage was being loaded onto brass-rimmed carts. In their red-and-gold uniforms, the hotel personnel looked polished and professional. First class. Parker expected nothing less.
She was still concerned she’d embarrassed him and vowed to speak to him privately at the first opportunity.
When the car stopped, she reached down for her soft-sided cooler, which she’d filled with her usual collection of fresh fruit, nuts, water and organic juice. She was hesitant to suggest a yoga session before dinner. Her client sorely needed the focus, but she—
He turned suddenly and met her gaze. “Joe Baker is an undisputed jerk. But you guys are conveniently leaving out the fact that
she
dumped
me
.”
He’d opened the door and stepped out toward the waiting smile of the bellhop before Darcy could begin to think of a response.
“Y
OU AND
B
RYAN ARE
on the same floor,” Parker said as they boarded the elevator. “I thought it would make the training sessions simpler to schedule.”
Darcy nodded. He always thought of everything. “I’m sure it will. I bet race weekends are hectic.”
“They are,” Bryan said, looking more annoyed than ever. “Wouldn’t it be easier to do the training at the beginning of the week? At home?”
“Sure it would,” Rachel said, glaring at her brother. “But you claim to be too busy then, too.”
“She’s right, Bryan.” Parker smiled. “Don’t look so concerned. Darcy wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Can she hurt him a little?” Rachel asked, hopeful. “He’s been a complete bear the last few weeks.”
“Then a spot of yoga will be just the thing,” Darcy said, trying to sound optimistic.
Rachel nudged her husband. “Isn’t the Irish adorable?”
“Absolutely,” Parker said.
Darcy cast a furtive look at Bryan. She needed to be tough with her client, not adorable. “I doubt you’d
think so after one of my training sessions on the treadmill.”
Bryan crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not getting on the treadmill or doing any yoga. I’m starving. Maybe after dinner.”
Darcy chose to ignore his protest. “I’m not opposed to a before-yoga snack. I have some apples and organic, no-sugar-added peanut butter in my bag. It’ll be just the thing to get your blood sugar level again.”
The elevator door dinged, and she stepped through the opening. Bryan remained in the car, his expression set in stubborn lines. Behind him, Parker and Rachel looked positively gleeful. They were no doubt going to indulge in champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries like Cade and Isabel. She’d allow her client a similar indulgence…eventually.
“Come on, mate,” she said to Bryan when he still hadn’t moved. “I can’t wait to get you into Cobra.”
The expression on his face was certainly mood-boosting for her. Somewhere between confusion, disbelief and a hint of sensual interest. “Into—what?”
She angled her head. “You’ll see.”
He stepped out.
“I’ll change into my workout gear then meet you at your room in ten minutes.” She looked him over from head to toe. “You need to put on something a little less restrictive. Sweats, shorts, pajama pants—any of those will work.” Walking down the hall toward
her room, she thought of one last thing and turned back. “And no shoes.”
The aggravated expression was gone, and she couldn’t say she wasn’t loving the confusion. “Pajama pants? No shoes? What kind of workout is this?”
“The relaxed kind.” She was several steps away when he spoke to her back.
“I don’t have pajamas.”
Though her steps stuttered, she managed to continue to her room, eyes closed and
not
imagining what he slept in.
None of my business. He’s just a client.
Workouts were professional—at least to her. But him being…intrigued by her methods wasn’t a bad thing. Anything that could jolt him out of his negative head space was warranted. And, if all else failed, she was pretty sure she’d figured out a way to throw a trump card.
But she wasn’t going to fight dirty.
Smiling to herself, she opened her door. At least not yet.
“Y
OU HIRED ME
to do a job. Are you going to let me do it or not?”
Bryan had reluctantly hired a trainer who acted more like a drill sergeant. In fact, the guy he’d
wanted
to hire had, in fact,
been
a drill sergeant, and he didn’t think that guy would be as demanding. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
Though he was still knocked way off balance by the barefoot woman wearing a fitted black tank top and matching pants who was currently standing in his hotel room.
She set a plate of cut apples, smeared with peanut butter, then her cell phone on the coffee table. “Here’s your snack. I’ve already called room service and ordered your dinner. It’ll be here in less than an hour. So we have twenty minutes to—”
“You ordered dinner?”
“Of course. A low-fat, high-protein regimen is essential to—”
“What did you order?”
“Steamed fish, green beans and fresh fruit.”
“Are you cra—” He stopped. Evidently, she
was
crazy. And he could always change the order after he got rid of her. “Sounds great,” he managed to say.
“No, it doesn’t. At least not to you.” She held out her hand. “Before you eat your snack, hand me your phone.”
“You’re taking my phone?”
“I’m turning off the ringer. This won’t do you any good if we’re interrupted.”
In the hopes of getting the whole thing over with as soon as possible, he gave her the phone and forced himself to eat the snack. His evaluation? Organic, no-sugar-added peanut butter sucked. He’d kill for some fries and a cheeseburger. And plenty of salt.
Later, that’s just what he’d have.
“Shall we begin?” she asked when he pushed the empty plate aside.
They started off with their legs crossed, while she taught him how to breathe. Since he had nearly thirty-four years of experience at that, he figured he wouldn’t have any problems. But, oh no, he’d been breathing wrong all this time. Not deep enough or in the right rhythm or position.
Plus, he usually had his eyes open while breathing.
How backward can you be?
When he grumbled, she got frustrated, told him his energy was misplaced and he was missing the point.
No kidding.
Cobra turned out to be a position where he had to lie on his stomach, straighten his arms and bend his back in a way it couldn’t possibly be meant to bend.
She encouraged, coaxed and eventually pushed his body into so many odd positions, he didn’t think he’d ever stand erect again. He didn’t see how any of it could help his knee.
“One last cleansing breath,” she said—finally. Then, moments later, she commented, “Now, don’t you feel better?”
He opened his eyes to see her standing in front of him, a pleased smile on her face. “I don’t think I can get up.”
“Try.”
With minimal pain and only a slight grimace, he managed to uncross his legs, then wobble to his feet.
His muscles twinged in protest as he straightened. Maybe she planned to make every other part of his body ache so his knee would be the least of his problems.
As if satisfied, she nodded. “In a few weeks, you won’t be able to sleep without going through that routine.”
So much for positive thoughts.
He focused instead on his new yogi—a yoga master, he’d learned—and her compact, subtle curves, shown off by her clinging outfit. Her regimen of torture certainly kept her fit.
Maybe he
had
put on weight since the accident. He hadn’t stepped on a scale in years. What was the point? His mass didn’t have to be figured into the weight of the race car anymore. So if he wasn’t driving and sweating off nearly four pounds every week, if his limited mobility had added a few pounds, who really cared? If his stomach wasn’t as solid as it used to be, who saw his body anyway?
He’d been mostly celibate for months, which was mostly lousy, but he didn’t want to get involved with anybody. He was busy running a race team and didn’t have time for the drama of a relationship.
But if he did have desire to get into better shape, if doing so would alleviate the pain in his knee, were steamed fish and strange body positions the only way to go? Couldn’t he box or jog or do push-ups?
Remembering the last time he’d done push-ups, he
struck those off the list. And he couldn’t run anymore because his knee wouldn’t let him jog more than half a dozen steps without collapsing beneath him.
It was possible his trainer’s lifestyle had merit.
“You don’t have any problem sticking to this fish and yoga stuff?” he asked her.
She smiled serenely. “Not at all. You won’t, either. You’ll see. It’ll change your life.”
“You don’t ever crave cheeseburgers or brownies?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Definitely not.”
“You don’t have any vices? No bad habits at all?”
“Nope.” She crossed the room and picked up her cell phone. “Have a nice dinner, Mr.—” She stopped briefly, then corrected herself, “Bryan.”
As she headed toward the door, he nearly asked her to stay. Only the prospect of a tasteless dinner kept his lips together. Maybe tomorrow he could eat before she arrived for round two of the torture, then he could stomach the healthy stuff. It would be nice not to eat alone for a change.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.
He leaned against the door frame. “Okay.”
She
was
ridiculously cute. Her warm brown eyes were so clear and direct. Her accent and pert nose adorable. Staring at her across the dinner table wouldn’t be a hardship at all.
Those spectacular eyes narrowed briefly. “Are you okay? You look strange.”
He was relaxed, he realized. He felt…well, good.
Of course, he wouldn’t admit that even under the threat of more yoga torture. “I feel fine.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said cheerfully, then she turned and walked down the hall toward her room.
He watched her go. Her hips swayed in an inviting way he was sure she wasn’t aware of. Or maybe all those months of celibacy were affecting him too strongly around a woman he was attracted to. He hadn’t been—
Hold everything. He was
relaxed?
She was cute and adorable?
It would be nice not to eat alone?
He slammed the door and leaned back against it, his heart racing. He
liked
being alone. What had the woman done to him? He was going soft. Falling into that dazy, silly state his brother and sister fell into when exchanging glances with their spouses. No way was he going down that road again.
Surely his condition wasn’t anything a bacon cheeseburger couldn’t fix.
He dived for the phone.
M
ITCH
G
ARRISON PUSHED ASIDE
the rest of his steak, cooked medium rare, just the way he liked it. He wished he could appreciate his son-in-law’s excellent chef, and his garlic/wine/something-or-other sauce, but he wasn’t very hungry.
“You okay?” Leanne asked from across the candlelit table. “You’re pretty quiet.”
He didn’t think
I’ve been thinking about my ex-wife
would be a good way to break the silence. Why had Barb looked so pretty in Daytona? So happy with that idiot florist?
“Just thinking about the weekend,” he said finally to Leanne. “Without the normal testing schedule, we only have last year’s data to rely on.”
She laid her hand over his and squeezed. “You’ll figure things out.”
Smiling, he pushed Barb out of his mind. Leanne McCrary Tew had a doctorate from a prestigious university. She was a community volunteer and a successful dermatologist. She was divorced, like him, and had raised a son practically on her own since her husband had liked cocktail waitresses more than home life. She was easy to talk to, beautiful and a big race fan. She was thrilled to come to the track, and whenever he talked about tire compounds or air pressure, she not only knew what he was talking about, she wanted to know more.
He was lucky to be with her.
So why didn’t he
feel
fortunate anymore? Why did he wonder what it would be like to reminisce? To talk about something that hadn’t happened in the last three months?
It wasn’t like Barb didn’t have a career. Hers was just a nonprofit thing related to motorsports. She was a vital part of the group, and they were always organizing charity fund-raisers that assisted women,
children and families who needed medical or financial help. They worked behind the scenes of the sport, and everybody who lived and worked in the business was aware of their quiet, but effective contributions. Their fall fund-raiser was a big-time arena concert with some high-profile entertainers already on board.
Or so he’d heard from Rachel and Isabel. Barb made sure her daughter and new daughter-in-law were also included in the nonprofit’s projects.
When he’d been racing, Mitch had always been proud of his wife’s accomplishments and support. When had he stopped appreciating her?
Why
had he?
“Mitch?” Leanne asked, raising her eyebrows at his continued silence.
He forced himself to smile. Regrets were for old men, and he had plenty of life in him yet. Maybe he’d even visit the dang florist and order some flowers for Leanne.
A
T SIX-THIRTY THE NEXT MORNING,
Darcy knocked on Bryan’s door.
And knocked. And knocked.
Finally, she heard pounding footsteps. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded as he flung open the door.